


Second Glances

by cheyennesunrise



Series: Librarian Finch/Billionaire Reese AU [2]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: AU, M/M, Protective John Reese, Second Date, Shy Finch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-11
Updated: 2016-06-11
Packaged: 2018-07-14 09:05:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7164752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheyennesunrise/pseuds/cheyennesunrise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The attraction was undeniable, almost instantaneous, but how will their second date go? Second fic in my Librarian!Finch/billionaire!Reese AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Second Glances

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: After a long delay, here's the second part of my librarian!Finch and billionaire!Reese AU. It's a little rough around the edges, but I just wanted to post it.
> 
> 021 is the Dewey Decimal code for library sciences.

_021_

Harold Finch knew that John Reese was a man with expensive taste, but he never expected that their second date would be another fundraiser, and a ball at the Waldorf Astoria, no less.

He was beginning to wonder if Lionel Fusco was more Mephistopheles than Cupid.

The infuriatingly intrusive police office had all but pushed him into John Reese's Brioni-clad arms last month.

In the short span of two weeks, Harold Finch had become a stuttering school boy prone to tripping over his own feet and daydreaming about the steel blue eyes and silvery-black hair of a certain billionaire.

 _His_ billionaire.

Harold groaned at his possessiveness and wondered for a moment if he ever crossed the doubtlessly fascinating and lofty thoughts of John Reese, billionaire philanthropist. He quickly shook his head and forced himself to concentrate on getting ready for work. Now _that_ was something that probably never troubled Mr. Reese.

After all, wasn't he above worrying and fretting and such foolishness?

_021_

Across town, John Reese was also caught in the maelstrom of his own mind. He had no patience for time wasting and frivolous pursuits, but one figure crossed his fretful daydreams.

_Him. Again._

"Harold," John said aloud, leaning back into the black leather of his office chair. It protested with a quiet squeak, and he slid down the back until he was hunched over in a poor imitation of Rodin's Thinker.

The fundraiser was the least of his worries. John longed to see Harold, and he grinned self-consciously at his romanticism.

"What are you up to, Harold?" he murmured, running a hand along the polished oak of his desk. He remembered the librarian's inquisitive grey-blue eyes, his lopsided smile, and that incorrigible crown of spiky brown hair. He thought of the taste of Harold's lips, and the sudden heartbeat that had thundered in his ears when the smaller man pulled him down into an eager kiss.

So vivid was his recollection that he was scarcely aware of the rapid knocking at his door.

"Mr. Reese?" John lifted his eyes to meet the quizzical stare of his assistant Colin. He cleared his throat quickly.

"Yes?"

"The board members are here to discuss the fundraiser for Friday," Colin said.

 _Friday_. He would see Harold on Friday.

 _Just three more days_.

John nodded and gave Colin a brief smile in acknowledgement.

"I'll be right out."

He glanced at his watch and wondered if he should call Harold before the ball.

 _Get a hold of yourself, John_.

He couldn't help but smile at his one-track-mind.

_021_

By 10 am, Harold was already falling back into the patterns of his day. He moved methodically from the return pile to the "to be shelved" cart, clucking a tongue here and there at the haphazard filing and half-empty Starbucks cups left behind the Ellis Island log books.

For a moment, Harold felt his eyes drift to the chandelier in the main reading room.

He wondered if it was anything like the fixtures in the Waldorf Astoria, and his mind was flooded with images of men in suits and women in evening gowns, milling about grand rooms and chattering amongst themselves. He squinted hard, making his way through the imaginary crowds in his reverie, and held his breath when he saw a tall figure clad in a fine black suit. A smile of recognition crossed his face as the Blue Danube swelled loudly in his ears.

"John?" he asked softly. There was a pause, and then a brusque _ahem_.

Harold's hand flew to his mouth.

"I- I'm sorry," he said quickly, turning around to face the irate patron.

"Let me guess, is tall dark and handsome on your mind?" Fusco guffawed.

Harold let out a slow breath as his gaze softened.

"Am I that obvious, Detective?" he asked quietly.

"Nah, I'm just perceptive like that. It's part of the job description," Fusco said with a shrug. He took a sip of his coffee and raised an eyebrow at Finch.

"So what, do you have a hot date with the guy?" he quipped.

"Well, yes, actually," Finch began slowly. He lowered his eyes and absentmindedly rubbed the back of his head.

Fusco quickly sensed his nervousness. He patted his friend on the forearm and grinned.

"Hey, don't worry about it. I know he's a big shot, but I'm pretty sure that he's falling hard too."

Finch's eyes widened.

"What? How do you know that, Detective?" he stammered.

"I've got eyes everywhere, Finch," Fusco chuckled.

"Oh dear," he murmured.

Fusco slapped his hand on the desk and jolted Finch out of his daydream.

"I heard about the fundraiser at the Waldorf. Look at you, movin' up in the world," he teased.

"I'll see you around, buddy. Go get 'im!" With a quick wave, he left the rather flustered librarian alone with his thoughts.

 _Am I getting in over my head?_ Finch mused.

 

_021_

The rest of the week passed rather uneventfully, but John Reese was continuously barraged with calls and emails from donors, assistants, and caterers, asking him which musicians to hire, which flowers would be appropriate, where the board members would be sitting.

A majority of the work fell on his assistant Marie's very capable shoulders, but John wanted it to be perfect.

The evening was for a very lofty cause, education and the arts, but John's intended audience was one individual. He knew that Harold was quite the connoisseur when it came to classical music and literature, and he would spare no expense. This was just their second date, so why not make it _their_ evening?

It sounded self-indulgent, but this was _Harold_ he was talking about. John made sure to reserve a spot for the librarian at the the executives' table, next to Reese, John. CEO.

He glanced at the clock.

 _3:30 already_!

John swallowed hard and wondered how he would ask Harold to dance.

Would the other man accept his invitation? Would he think him pretentious and arrogant?

His thoughts drifted to the gruff words of that police officer who seemed to know Harold so well.

"Don't sweat it, Moneybags. You don't need to do anything crazy. He's already got it bad."

"Thanks again, Fusco," Reese whispered.

He hated asking the detective to spy for him, but he couldn't help it. Lionel was just looking out for his friend, after all. John finished updating his last quarterly report of the day. He pushed the laptop shot with a satisfying _click_ , humming a tuneless song as he looked over his office one last time.

_Focus, John. Focus._

_021_

Harold Finch was almost ready.

 _Almost_.

He gave himself a careful once-over, adjusting the perfectly-starched black suit again.

He brushed away imaginary dust, straightened the already-impeccable lapels, and drew in a deep breath. Mr. Reese would surely notice any imperfections in his suit or hair.

The man was a walking advertisement for Savile Row, for heaven's sake!

In his heart, however, Harold knew that John wouldn't care. He remembered Lionel's words and felt his heart leap with joy and anticipation.

Harold checked his phone again and saw that the limo driver had already alerted him of his arrival, although there was a placating "no rush :)" in the text attachment.

He sighed, knowing that he'd never get his hair to obey in time.

Harold silently hoped that Mr. Reese would at least appreciate the effort that he put into taming his spiky coiffure.

Another insistent ding from the phone reminded him that the driver and Mr. Reese were waiting.

Harold set it on vibrate and headed swiftly down the stairs, practicing his greeting in a stilted, careful voice.

"Good evening, Mr. Reese. Thank you so much for--."

 _No, that sounded a little too unctuous_.

Harold realized that the driver might start doubting his sanity, so he pressed his lips together in a firm line and climbed into the limousine.

The city was alive with noise and light, but it seemed to flow together into a serene sea of blurs and hums as they made their way to the palatial hotel on Park Avenue.

_021_

John Reese walked from table to table, carefully surveying the placement of the flowers, the perfectly symmetrical folds of the napkins, and the champagne-colored light that bounced off the walls and reverberated in the quivering surfaces of the ice fountains.

The three-story room was painstakingly decorated with a style that suggested rigorous perfectionism, and it brought a smile to John's face.

He wasn't as fastidious as some of his board members, but he appreciated the effort.

He crossed the slick dance floor in three easy strides and shot a surreptitious look around the room.

 _Why wasn't Harold there yet_? John checked his watch again and his frown deepened.

He cursed the rush hour traffic and hoped that Harold was all right.

"Mr. Reese?" a soft voice interrupted.

John lifted his eyes and found himself standing face-to-face with Harold Finch.

The older man gave him a bashful nod, and John felt his heart rate speed up considerably.

"Nice to see you, Harold," he said warmly.

A wide grin broke out his face as he wrapped an arm around the librarian's shoulders.

"Right this way," he added, inwardly hoping that Harold wouldn't mind the gesture.

_021_

Harold felt the heat return to his face, but he shook it off.

John was doing all of this for him!

He smiled to himself as he allowed the dark-haired man to lead him to their seats at the front of the room.

"So, what do you think?" John asked in a low voice.

His breath was hot and mellifluous on Harold's neck, and the librarian suppressed a shiver.

"It's wonderful," he said softly, "truly wonderful. Thank you, Mr. Reese."

John chuckled and shook his head.

"Don't thank me just yet, Harold. The night is young," he reprimanded gently.

Harold's eyes widened at the implication, but he tried his best to ignore the rich, teasing voice that had piqued his curiosity.

"So, John," Harold began slowly, "does anyone else know about- us- yet?"

John shook his head. "I'm a very private person, Harold, but they might know about us by the end of the night," he added with a wink.

Harold, who was not quite used to having such attention lavished on him, turned another shade of red, and John grinned widely.

"I'm sorry, Harold. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable," John said quickly.

He introduced Harold to his executives and board members, referring to him as his special guest, and Harold smiled inwardly, like it was their little secret.

John patted him on the arm and stood up to begin the festivities.

"Thank you all for joining us tonight," he began. "I cannot thank you enough for your generosity and your kindness. Please feel free to walk around and get to know each other. The bar will be open all night, and so will the dance floor."

He stole a glance at Harold and gave him an imperceptible wink.

"We are supporting schools and arts programs across the city tonight. Thank you again for making this night possible," John added, lifting his champagne glass in a quick toast.

There was a soft smattering of applause, and then a gentle hum of activity as the guests stood up and began milling about the tables and hors d'oeuvre stations.

"Come on, Harold," John said in a voice that was just a few decibels above a whisper. He offered his arm to the seated man, and Harold reluctantly took it and stood up.

The band was already playing Nat King Cole's "Dream a Little Dream", and Harold's eyes widened in surprise.

"How'd you know?" he asked with a wry grin.

"A little bird told me," John offered nonchalantly.

"Fusco," Harold scoffed. "He is disarmingly good at his job," he added begrudgingly.

“He's just keeping an eye out for a friend,” John said with a smile.

“Much like I'm doing now,” he added in a low voice.

“Mr. Reese, what on earth are you talking about?” Harold protested.

John looked over his shoulder at a tall, fair-haired gentleman in his mid 40s.

“Mr. Personality over there. Peter Bellamy. He's had his eye on you since you walked in the door.”

“Me? Why?” Harold asked worriedly, flustered by all the sudden attention.

“I'm not sure,” John growled. “Just stay with me for a little bit.”

Harold couldn't help but shake his head in bewilderment.

 _What was he getting himself into_?

_021_

Peter approached Harold and swirled the champagne in his glass with a casual flick of his wrist. _Smooth, like water_.

Everything about him was rehearsed and precise, from the elegantly coiffed hairline to the GQ suit.

"Don't think I've seen you around here," he said in a soft, honeyed voice as he gave Harold the once-over.

"I- I'm here with Mr. Reese," Harold said quickly.

Peter's gaze darted back to John, and he emitted a derisive chuckle.

"Ah, the illustrious John Reese. I can't compete with that," he said with a wink. Peter draped an arm over Harold's shoulder and led him away from John.

"Don't listen to the guy. He's all style, but no substance. I've seen him do this with half a dozen other flustered librarians and professors. He's definitely got a type, but I wouldn't let him fool you."

Harold's mouth opened in shock, but he quickly pressed his lips into a firm line.

"I know Mr. Reese quite well, Mr. Bellamy, and he is not like that," Harold said angrily.

Peter gave an unimpressed shrug and gripped Harold's arm tighter.

"Keep telling yourself that," he hissed.

Harold was surprised to feel his arm moving on its own as John came into vision, a panther-like blur of black Armani and silver hair.

John shoved Peter away from Harold and grabbed him by his suit lapels. "

If you ever touch my personal guest like that again, I'll have you banned from every hotel in Manhattan. Get out of my sight," he added, eyes bright with anger.

Peter pushed John's hands away and straightened his shoulders.

"You two can have each other. Thanks for the champagne, John," he sneered.

John quickly turned to Harold and patted his arm gently.

"Are you all right?" Harold nodded, but his pale, drawn face betrayed him.

"I didn't mean to cause a scene, John. Maybe I should leave," Harold offered quietly.

"No. Absolutely not. Bellamy has been a problem for ages. He was born into money and he's donated to a few of our causes, but we don't need him," John assured him.

"I truly appreciate it, John. I just- I don't know if I should be here. I'm not meant for this kind of life," Harold trailed off, embarrassed by his candor.

"Neither am I, Harold. That's why I was drawn to you," John said with a grin.

Harold slowly looked up at John and met his intense gaze.

There was kindness there, but something else lingered just under the surface, a passion that both excited and terrified Harold.

In the distance, the band was beginning to play another song, one that was also dear to Harold's heart.

"The Way You Look Tonight? John, it's wonderful! How did you know-" he paused, and John gave him a knowing smile.

"Fusco again?" Harold laughed.

John nodded as he pulled Harold in for another dance, brushing his lips across Harold's mouth as an electrifying promise of things to come.


End file.
